


Virtues Uncounted

by Atticus



Series: Domestication Series [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Bottom!Villanelle, But Dangerous Villanelle, Can I Offer You A Fic In This Trying Time?, Cunnilingus, F/F, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Post S02E05, Praise Kink, Smut, Soft Villanelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-01 13:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18801190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atticus/pseuds/Atticus
Summary: She doesn’t hear Villanelle getting in to her own bed across the hotel room, wonders briefly if she’ll sleep at all. She considers for a moment that Villanelle might disappear somewhere into the night like a half-feral cat, spend the night prowling alleys and yowling into the dark before slinking back through the hotel window when dawn comes. Instead, she hears the soft shuffle of feet on carpet, and knows that the other woman is still standing in the space between their beds.“Eve” Villanelle whispers into the dark.“Are you going to invite me to get into your bed?”





	1. Part 1

They are in some distant hotel just outside the Forest of Dean, something too fancy for Eve and not expensive enough for Villanelle. There are soft white linens and a vase of fresh flowers in the room, but the room service menu perched in the corner is a small, laminated thing and Villanelle’s lip had curled in disgust at her first glance at it.

Carolyn’s instructions after The Ghost’s confession had been very clear - neither of them are to return home. They are to come immediately back to MI6. They are permitted (required) to use one night’s accommodation in a designated safe-house. They are permitted use of a single room. Carolyn had been professional but firm on the phone in a way that reminds Eve far too much of bringing stray cats home to her mother as an impulsive child. 

_Well, Eve, you brought it home – you look after it._

Tomorrow they will go to MI6, formalise an arrangement with Villanelle and find a way forward with Aaron Peel. 

There will be fingerprints and interviews and documents and negotiating tomorrow, but for now there is Villanelle, there is a hotel room, and at least 6 long hours. The time stretches out impossibly ahead of Eve, her teeth and bones still itching with the stress and excitement of it all. 

Eve feels as though she could shred the pillows, smash the lamps and tear down the heavy curtains. She feels like she might prowl the hallway between rooms, groaning and coughing like a tiger. It is powerful and terrible, this thing that Villanelle is making her into. 

In the corner, Villanelle is busying herself with the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign and Eve feels as though she could slap her for the way she is slicing inelegantly into her safe, boring life. 

Villanelle had gotten to the hotel bathroom first and now she smells like cheap soap and expensive perfume. The bold, flawless make-up is gone now and her hair is piled haphazardly atop her head in a loose, messy bun. Somewhere in one of the jumbled piles of clothes and surveillance equipment and bags is her black mourning veil. 

A maroon, men’s silk pyjama shirt hangs loose and luxuriously over Villanelle’s torso and her long, bare legs disappear under the shirt at mid-thigh, teasing the possibility of nothing else underneath. The embroidered pocket over Villanelle’s right breast says ‘O.P’ and Eve has absolutely no fucking clue who that is or where she found it.

Still in her jeans and cardigan, Eve feels over-dressed and somehow out of place, not so effortlessly beautiful as Villanelle. For a moment, Eve wants to strip out of her bra and jeans to saunter the room in her tank top and black underwear and her wild mess of black curls– she thinks of the way she can make Niko’s eyes follow her like that, and wants that feeling now too. She reminds herself quickly that this is her job, _their job_ , not some soft teenage slumber party the way that Villanelle seems to think, and she is hot and furious and embarrassed with herself all at once. Suddenly she wants to swipe at Villanelle, tear her down and tell her to put on something less ridiculous. The feeling settles cruel and cold in her throat, and she squashes it down. 

When Eve glances at Villanelle, she is sneering at the room service menu again before she catches Eve’s eye and smirks. 

“More champagne?” She purrs, and Eve lifts one eyebrow slowly. 

“They have something called ‘sparkling white’. And the bar closed at 10:00pm.” 

Villanelle’s lip twitches again with contempt. 

“I thought I could have everything I wanted… _boss?_ ” she pouts and begins a slow saunter towards Eve. 

She had been larger than life in the forest and the kitchen, the perfect streamlined predator in her veil and black lace. But now, here, there is no makeup and she smells of facewash and soap. Her cheeks are pink and clear, and she is small, human and fragile. When she gets closer, Eve can feel that she is warm.

“Do you want to know what I want?” Villanelle purrs, more languid than in the kitchen, and her bare toes scrunch into the carpet. Somewhere in the back of her brain, Eve notices that her toenails are painted pale pink. 

The tension and frustration and madness of the day is swirling inside of Eve too tightly, too much to do this all again so soon, and so with no small amount of effort she ignores the baiting, brushes past Villanelle in favour of preparing for bed. 

Eve brushes her teeth brusquely in the hotel bathroom, pressing far too hard and watching Villanelle’s reflection through the mirror as she eats a consolation prize of two Mars bars from the hotel mini-fridge. She pulls smaller chunks of the chocolate away messily with her fingers, caramel stretching out into ribbons as she draws the pieces to her mouth. Her tongue flicks out to lick a golden smudge from the pad of her thumb and she hums to herself in pleasure. Eve watches her clutch the second chocolate bar in her hand as she chews the first – gluttony premeditated. When she kneels down to inspect the contents of the mini-fridge a second time, maroon silk pulls upwards and away from the soft fullness of her thighs.

Eve watches her, bare legs splayed on the hotel carpet, drawing out too many sweets that someone else will need to pay for, and Eve thinks “ _spoiled brat_ ” and then shifts uncomfortably when she feels herself grow hot at this image of her, the thought of it. 

When Eve finally pulls her eyes away and spits into the sink, the minty foam is tinted a soft, girlish pink with blood from her own gums. 

She stalks the short distance from the bathroom back to her twin bed, ignoring the way Villanelle lingers at the doorway in her wake. When she begins to crumple the blankets down on her bed, there is a Mars bar wrapper on her pillow. She shakes it to the floor with a curt snap, before clambering into the cool, clean sheets. 

Villanelle is perched in the bathroom, toothbrush at her teeth, when Eve flips off the lamp anyway and scrunches herself further down into the bed to face the wall. There is a short series of squeaks and gurgles from the tap while Villanelle finishes up at the sink. 

She doesn’t hear Villanelle getting in to her own identical bed, wonders briefly if she’ll sleep at all. She considers for a moment that Villanelle might disappear somewhere into the night like one of those half-feral cats from her childhood memories, spend the night prowling alleys and yowling into the dark before slinking back through a window when dawn comes. Instead, she hears the soft shuffle of feet on carpet, and knows that the other woman is still standing in the space between the beds.

“Eve!” Villanelle hisses into the dark.

“What?” Eve responds tersely into her pillow. She is still tense, on edge, and really in no mood for whatever this is going to be. There is the soft sound of silk on silk behind her, as Villanelle folds her arms across her chest.

“Are you going to invite me to get into your bed?”

Villanelle’s tone is impatient, affronted. As though there had been some faux par on Eve’s part. The way one might ask “ _Are you even going to say thank you?_ ” and for a moment, Eve says nothing – she rolls to face Villanelle, stares incredulously into the dark of the room until her eyes adjust, sees the raised eyebrows and the pursed lips. 

And because it’s 1:00am, and the meeting in the kitchen feels so far away now, (and because there’s almost nothing else to say), Eve grunts,

“Fine.”

Villanelle flinches for a moment at Eve’s tone, but even as she does so she is already peeling back the crisp white quilt, climbing in one impossibly long leg at a time. She burrows quickly and quietly under the covers, and when Eve rolls onto her back, maintaining distance, so does Villanelle. 

Eve knows she won’t sleep now, like this. It occurs to her that she wouldn’t have slept either way, but she likes the anger too much to let it slip away like that. She lets the indignation settle in a hard ball behind her teeth and mulls over it with grim satisfaction, pokes at it like a bruise. 

Eve doesn’t know if this, the bed, is what Villanelle really wants or if this is all just intended to make her stiff and uncomfortable – maybe those are the same thing, she thinks. She doesn’t say anything, but she hopes the tension is coming off of her in waves now – hopes it feels big enough to fill the space between them. 

_Stay away_ , she hopes it says, and she tries not to think of clear skin or long, thick thighs splayed on hotel carpet. In her ears, she can hear her own heartbeat.

It only takes 10 heartbeats before she hears the sharp draw of a breath beside her, the kind that has a sentence behind it, and she tenses instinctively. 

“You wanted me, Eve.” Villanelle starts “You called me here and you wanted me, and you asked for my help.” Villanelle’s voice wavers slightly, and from the measured cadence of her speech Eve knows that this is something she has practised in her head in the long car ride from the forest. It isn’t what Eve expected.

“I helped you and I did what you asked but now you won’t even look at me, and you didn’t say ‘thankyou’ or even ‘sorry that I stabbed you in the stomach’” she breaks off with a shaky breath now, presses at her scar.

Villanelle glances over at Eve, catches her breath wetly and continues on, rambling now.

“And I didn’t even hurt the Moustache at all, or your guards who stare, and I was really good and I thought maybe just at night, then, just us...Didn’t I do a good job, Eve?”

The moment hangs over them silently, and Eve’s stomach twists unexpectedly with guilt. The adrenaline that has been coursing through her since this morning is wearing off, and with it her tension and anger feels like some smaller, further away thing. When she looks at it from this distance, turns it over in the dark, she can see that Villanelle is right. The feeling is shit.

Somewhere during her outburst, Villanelle has turned on her side to stare at Eve, wide eyed and wounded - and Eve orchestrated the torture of a woman today, put her entire team in danger and snuck behind Niko’s back to…do whatever that was they had done in the kitchen and still, somehow, she really was not prepared to feel like this much of a bastard. 

She reaches out for Villanelle’s face, cups her cheek lightly. She thinks for a moment that she might feel the wet press of a tear when her thumb meets cheek, and there is the hiccupping sound of Villanelle trying to calm her own breathing.

“I’m sorry,” Eve finally croaks out “It’s hard. This is all hard for me, the job, the Ghost, you. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Villanelle hums and nods into her hand. Her breathing is beginning to slow, with soft hitching noises as she steadies herself. 

“You have never done anything like this before.” She agrees solemnly, still nodding, and her accent is rounder and thicker with her emotion. 

“No, I haven’t.” Eve grimaces “I guess I fucked it up, didn’t I?” and Villanelle gives a little shrug in response, careful not to dislodge her cheek from Eve’s palm.

“You are mean.” She says simply, with a final sniff. “But you can be nice now, Eve.”

Eve shuffles in closer, her hands coming to rest in a pile between them. She doesn’t think of herself as a mean person, it’s a quality it had never occurred to her to look for in herself. The old Eve had never been nice, but maybe this one is less so. 

The room around them is silent and still, and she tries not to think of a blood stained bed somewhere in Paris.

“What would ‘nice’ look like, Villanelle?” she asks gently, and she feels the way she turns the air around them electric with the question. She can’t believe she’s starting this. For her part, Villanelle’s face has gone soft, all her hardness falling away. She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment. Her left hand is pressed against her abdomen, and Eve is sure that underneath it there is the scar, pink and as long as her thumb. 

“You should say “thank you”, Eve.” Villanelle whispers. 

“Thank you.” Eve concedes, and the blonde woman’s eyes flicker with the victory before she moves almost imperceptibly closer.

“And you should kiss me, Eve.” It is breathless. Hopeful. 

And Eve concedes to this too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW rating earned next chapter, which is written and coming tomorrow.


	2. Part 2

The kissing isn’t what Eve expected. 

Eve had expected the leonine predator again, tension and danger and sharp edges. She had half expected for Villanelle to snap at her, a flurry of teeth and flashing eyes and clawing at her ribs just to spite her for her softness. She thinks of those rescued cats in her childhood bedroom and how her hands were always, all the time, cut to ribbons for daring to pet them. She thinks of never learning, and of fingers wrapped in endless Band Aids. 

But Villanelle has all but melted against her, soft and pliant. When Eve parts her lips to press her tongue against Villanelle’s she is rewarded with a soft, grateful sigh. 

And Eve realises she was right to worry about this, to fight it. Eve knows now that she’ll want this every minute, forever. 

She runs her hand down over Villanelle’s waist and tugs softly, tries to pull her slightly closer. Instead, Villanelle rolls into her entirely, throws one bare leg over her hip and presses in close. Eve steadies a hand on the small of her back, and she is sure now that if her hand slipped any lower she would find only warm, bare skin. 

Against her lips, Villanelle pants “Did you get your flowers?”

And Eve’s brain comes swimming up from the warm cloying depths of skin and breath and Villanelle. 

“What?” she asks, turning her face to pull away from the kiss. She nips at the long pale neck she finds beneath her mouth.

“Your flowers. White roses.” Villanelle gasps “Where they perfect?”

Eve blinks for a moment, thinks of the garish display on the wet concrete of her door step, and the hot thrill that it had sent through her. 

“They were beautiful.” Eve replies, hoarsely and Villanelle practically purrs in satisfaction.

“Good.” She preens, and she is still nodding when she presses her lips back against Eve’s. 

The kisses are longer and lazier now and Eve thinks that some other version of her, an Eve from a past life would have called them obscene. But this new Eve licks into Villanelle’s mouth deeper, coils her hand in honey-blonde hair to pull Villanelle down for better purchase at pink-bitten lips. Eve’s free hand is at Villanelle’s belly now, pulling at handfuls of maroon silk until it gathers up around her ribs. 

When Eve tries to speak it leaves her in a husky slur.

“Pretty”. She rasps, nodding down at both her handful of silk and the now exposed juncture of Villanelle’s thighs. The gasp in her ear is a quick ragged hiss. 

Villanelle is drawing one hand up along the flat of Eve’s, pelvis, belly, sternum. When she reaches the curve of Eve’s breast she curls her fingers there, stroking the sensitive skin along Eve’s breasts and sides with the back of her fingers.

“Do you like that?” Villanelle whispers, her breath hot against Eve’s neck. 

“Yeah.” Eve gasps quickly, but when she lifts her head in search of a kiss she instead sees feverish hazel eyes still searching her face in earnest, wet lips slightly open. The blonde woman still seems small and soft somehow, and Eve realises that Villanelle truly wants to hear her tell her. 

“Yes,” she repeats “I like it. Here, too” she says, moving Villanelle’s hand higher until her fingers brush her nipple. Eve shivers.

“So good.” She says, and then, 

“ _You’re so good, baby._ ”

And the noise that escapes Villanelle is soft, surprised and thrilled. 

“ _Oh._ ”  
Bare hips immediately drive up harder against Eve, grinding against her thigh with uncontrolled intensity and the hand still on Eve’s breast tightens slightly.  
Eve groans low in her throat and when she lifts her head again, this time she is met quickly with a kiss. She extends her tongue to lick into Villanelle’s mouth, who breathes a shaky moan across her lips in return. When she pulls back, Villanelle’s eyes are huge and excited, nearly black with her pupils blown out wide despite the darkness around them. Her hips still grind rhythmically against Eve’s leg and when she catches her breath it is with a soft, excited hiccupping noise.

“You really like that” Eve rasps, and it isn’t a question. 

“Eve.” Villanelle breathes back at her “Please. Say more.” And the rest goes unspoken. 

_Say more about me._

Arousal races through Eve in a short, quick thrill. Villanelle had been worked up before, but restrained and in control, nothing like this squirming and panting from such small praise. But of course it is this way, Eve thinks, so needy and spoiled and vain. And it is nothing new to Eve to know that Villanelle is driven by a need to please her, to surprise her, to see her react.

 _She liked attention_ Anna had said, and even then it had been too late, Eve had known that everything she was doing already revolved around Villanelle - was an obsession with Villanelle. Eve sees no reason this should be any different. 

She turns in Villanelle’s arms now, pushes her backwards in a wild mess of hair and flushed skin twisting in the white cotton sheets until Eve is hovering over the blonde woman. Villanelle huffs with surprise, her hips taking a moment to still and for a moment she is arching hopelessly into empty space, whining softly at the loss. When Eve comes to rest over her, her face is inches away and Villanelle sighs. Her breath is warm, smells of mint and skin, and Eve leans in to close the space between them. 

“You’re incredible.” She rasps against soft lips and Villanelle groans and tugs insistently at her shirt front. _More._

“And you’re so fucking pretty.” She continues, and the grateful whine that comes out of Villanelle is almost pained.

Shaking hands slide feverishly along Eve’s ribs, wanting to touch and grab and hold every part of this.

Villanelle could roll them now, Eve knows – push Eve back into the bed and finish this quick and rough and gasping. But looking down at her now, soft and pliant and almost shaking with want, Eve can tell that she knows that it would spoil it, knows it will be better if she is patient, if she is good.

And, _oh_ , Villanelle wants so badly for Eve to tell her again that she’s been good. 

“Get on top of me,” Eve groans, and Villanelle does. She flips them both easily, throws a toned, white leg over Eve’s hips and pulls herself upright in one smooth movement. Segments of hair have fallen from her messy bun and hang around her face now in wayward tendrils. She absently tosses her head, and drags one hand up her body to distractedly run her fingers over her left nipple through the silk of her shirt. When Eve palms roughly at her hips and moans up at the sight of her, Villanelle’s hips buck down.

“Yes, good, just like that.” Eve sighs, and Villanelle flushes with arousal and delight, arching further into her own fingers with a sigh. 

Villanelle’s preening makes Eve bolder, makes her sure that she understands this game. She briefly takes one hand off Villanelle’s thigh to tug softly at the silken hem in front of her.

“Now take this off for me. Show me how pretty you look.” She rasps. 

“You’re meant to touch me…” Villanelle whines, a pout beginning to form.

“Take it off and I will.” Eve soothes indulgently with one hand brushing blonde hair away from a soft pale neck, and Villanelle brightens and shivers at such soft treatment. Shivers to have Eve coddle her this way. 

She doesn’t bother with the buttons, just pulls the thing over her head with both hands, twisting it around her fingers for a moment before discarding it on the bed beside her. 

Eve flushes with a pre-emptive embarrassment, hopes she isn’t taking this too far and then finally breathes out.

“Good. Such a good girl for me.” 

She immediately knows that she has made the right call. Villanelle keens and nods sharply, jerks against Eve’s belly twice and _oh_ , yes, this is exactly what she wants. 

Eve slides her hand upward between Villanelle’s breasts, along her neck, before sliding her fingers in beneath her ear. Along the way, Eve’s thumb pulls slowly across Villanelle’s full bottom lip, parting it slightly from the thinner one above it.

“Gorgeous girl,” she says, and Villanelle whines and turns her head to suck the thumb into her mouth. 

“Again” Villanelle breathes around her mouthful, and Eve pulls her hand down to run the wet digit over Villanelle’s nipple.

“Gorgeous.” She purrs again over the sound of the soft cry that follows. 

When her hands settle back again to dig into full, pale hips, she looks up and meets Villanelle’s waiting gaze.

“What now, Eve?” Villanelle pants, and her dark eyes are shining with the pure excitement, the thrill of it all. 

Eve feels as though her chest might burst. She can feel the sharp tension in the air and she is immediately aware that she is the one with the power to break it. It feels strong and safe and exciting, knowing that Villanelle would do anything for her like this. Not the way it is with Niko, the way that he might have once meant it. Villanelle would kill for her, hurt for her, had hurt for her _today,_ – would do anything. Having her like this, pliant and soft - it is intoxicating. 

She takes one of Villanelle’s hands into her own and guides the long fingers down between pale, parted thighs.

“Now you show me what you like, baby.” She rasps and settles her head back against the pillows. When she begins to pull her hand away, Villanelle clasps her by the wrist and draws her back, begins to press.

“I like it when you’re touching me.” But Eve is already pulling her hand back.

“No.” Eve murmurs firmly “You show me. I want to look at you.”

Villanelle shivers. She leans back slightly, bracing herself on one arm propped behind her. With the other, she uses two fingers to spread herself open shamelessly. 

“Good girl. That’s very pretty.” Eve sighs, and when Villanelle sinks both fingers into herself, turns to whine into the soft skin of her own shoulder, Eve thinks that she might die from wanting this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least one more chapter to go with this one, maybe two!
> 
> Any comments or feedback are always the highlight of my day.


	3. Part 3

_Money, praise, attention_ Martin had said. _It’s possible to control her for a short time._

Eve thinks about how Villanelle works for her now, will be paid by MI6.

“So pretty for me” she croons again at the woman perched above her, and wonders when her short time will run out. 

Villanelle tenses her core, redistributes her weight to balance herself on her knees and drags her free hand up her body. She grazes over her nipple with a sigh, scratches up along the long column of her neck before pulling her hair free from the loose band there. It tumbles down in waves, wild and tangled from friction and sweat. 

There is a deep, pink flush spreading high on her cheeks, and when she is sure that Eve is looking at her, she raises her fingers to her mouth. She licks at three of them slowly with the broad flat of her tongue, eyes still locked with Eve’s, before she drops them down to join the two that are still buried inside herself to start an inelegant rub against her clit. She pants out a soft whimper of satisfaction and only tears her eyes away from Eve to drop her head back.

This Villanelle is soft and fragile, but the performance is blatantly and intentionally pornographic and Eve’s stomach lurches with arousal. There are so many things she wants from Villanelle, so many things she wants to _do_ and _be_ with her and she knows that tonight will not be enough for it all. She feels insatiable, and for the briefest moment her heart aches at what this means for the distant safety of her life. 

Above her, Villanelle moans plaintively and Eve realises she isn’t touching her, raises her hands to palm softly at her breasts. She squeezes firmly at her nipple.

“Look so good like this.” Eve croons, “Good girl.”

And Villanelle cries out and shudders so nicely that she says it again. 

For a brief moment, Eve considers herself at a distance. She’s 46, there’s an MI6 lanyard on the bedside table beside her and she is still wearing jeans. The woman gasping and rocking on her hips is young, soft and gorgeous. Villanelle sighs prettily for her again, and all of it makes Eve want to thrust hard up against her, roll her over and push her down hard into the bed. She feels powerful and lascivious, turned on by the contrast between them in this moment but only part way comfortable with it.

Villanelle gets bored of waiting for her, draws her fingers out of herself and pinches cruelly at Eve’s ribs. She glowers fiercely down at her. 

“Eve! Watch me. Say nice things about me” she urges. Eve bristles hotly with the pain in her ribs and it’s _Villanelle_ again, it’s _them_ again – and Eve remembers that this feeling, this dark confidence and authority in her is part of this game they are playing.

“Sorry sweetheart” soothes Eve, and runs her hands firmly up Villanelle’s lithe back to pull her down flat against her, chest to chest. Holding Villanelle strongly against her, Eve kisses her until the pout slides off her face. 

“So beautiful” Eve groans against soft lips, and then ducks her chin to smile into the soft curve where shoulder meets neck. 

“And so fucking spoilt.” 

Villanelle barks out a high, delighted laugh at it. At the sound of that word in Eve’s mouth. _Spoiled_. The way Eve sounds so charmed, so turned on by it. 

Villanelle tenses, tries to pull herself back upright but Eve buries one hand tightly in her hair, presses the other down on the small of her back and holds her flush against her. Villanelle’s hand, still pressed against herself and trapped between them, stutters. Soft, wanting noises spill out of Villanelle and quiver across Eve’s lips.

“Sound so good like this” Eve groans. Her voice is tighter, rougher with the way that Villanelle’s weight pushes the air from her lungs and Villanelle is gasping, moving her hips to thrust down into her own hand as Eve holds her firmly in place against her.

“ _Oh. Oh._ Eve.” The hand not crushed between them buries itself in the chaotic tangle of Eve’s hair. 

Villanelle nearly sobs with how close she is already. She has wanted this for too long, but this is too fast and too soon, and _oh_ , it can’t be over with Eve still clothed and only her own fingers wet with herself. 

And Eve can feel it – the way Villanelle tenses and arches her back to lift her clit away from her own hand, the way she has to stop, fingers twitching in the space between their bodies. She has pulled her face away from Eve’s searching kisses, everything too much and too sensitive and the look of exquisite anguish on her face is almost pitiful. 

“Can you have another? After you’ve come?” Eve asks, and Villanelle nods quickly, eyes closed. 

“Ahuh-” 

“Good. Go on then,” Eve urges, her hands still holding her firmly in place “show me how pretty you look.”

And immediately, almost shockingly fast, Villanelle does. Her hips jerk quickly into her hand three times more before tensing entirely with a short grateful whine. There is a single moment of stillness and silence, and Eve can see Villanelle’s eyebrows pinched together now in an almost pained expression, her mouth slack as the sharp intensity of her orgasm begins.

Just as suddenly as it had started, her silence breaks - ragged gasping sobs break free from Villanelle’s throat as she resumes a series of softer, longer thrusts, pushing the wetness between her legs against her fingers, almost sliding them inside. At the peak of every stroke her knuckles press more firmly along the front of Eve’s jeans, and this paired with the sight and sound of Villanelle’s orgasm draws a series of rough moans from her throat.

Eventually, Villanelle slumps entirely against Eve. Her face falls into the soft warm space under Eve’s chin and her hand emerges from between them to curl softly at Eve’s collarbone. Her fingers and palm are still slick with herself, and Eve’s skin is wet where she touches her. 

“That’s it. Gorgeous girl.” Eve croons, and Villanelle whines and flinches as though she were running her fingers along her still sensitive clit. When Eve lifts her hands to stroke along her back and ribcage, she can feel it expand and retract powerfully with each shuddering breath. 

“Better now?” Eve teases, and Villanelle bristles and sneers - flushing to have come early like some desperate teenager. She leans over to take the weight off of Eve, slips down off of Eve’s hips to one side and it isn’t the poised, proud performance from earlier. She is funny and boneless, completely at ease, and Eve’s chest aches.

The last few months have been nothing but an endless wrestle for dominance, scales tipping back and forth, and Eve thinks this might be the longest she has held the upper hand. Sprawled beside her, Villanelle is flushed and loose limbed, her hair fanning out around her in a messy pool. She still looks soft and vulnerable. The scar on her abdomen looks silver in the darkness and Eve doesn’t think she’s ready to know what this game might look like if the scales tip – if Villanelle snatches the reins. 

And so she unbuttons her own jeans, peels them down her legs brusquely and follows them with her underwear. She leans back against the headboard.

“Come here.” She instructs and ignores how little she has to work to keep her voice laced with the same authority from before. 

When Villanelle’s head lolls to one side to look at her, Eve lifts one leg to plant her foot on the mattress and lets her knee fall to the side. The movement pulls her open, exposes the very centre of her in a shock of _pink_ and _wet_ and _soft_. A soft, hungry cry tumbles from Villanelle. 

“Come here.” Eve repeats and gestures with a jerk of her head. The blonde woman rolls, boneless, onto her knees and starts a short languid slide towards Eve, to the inviting ‘V’ of her spread legs. She is leading with one hand, cups it immediately against Eve’s cunt with her long fingers splayed. She wets her own lips, and presses them to Eve’s. 

Eve quickly meets Villanelle’s tongue with her own, licks hotly into her mouth and groans. But her hand is coiled in Villanelle’s hair already, pushing down.

“Use your mouth.” She rasps and Villanelle groans and nods, her forehead pressed briefly against Eve’s before she drops her body to the mattress. 

She teases her fingers up and down the very periphery of Eve’s heat, right against the seam of feeling where the skin becomes sensitive and hot. Her thumb pulls firm and achingly slow, even as her mouth presses hot and wet against Eve clit. She throws her whole being into it, cranes her neck for new angles and breathes long hot breaths out through her mouth. She smooths the hand not stroking at Eve’s entrance up the back of her raised thigh, settles it strongly under her knee to hold her in place, hold her wide open. It is rough and rude, appallingly good. 

Eve moans, rough and guttural and gasping, and Villanelle stops briefly to stare up at her like she is _everything_. It takes her a moment of this staring and studying before she drops her head again. 

Villanelle’s fingers continue to slide against Eve beneath the working of her mouth, toying at her but never quite dipping inside. Every one of Eve’s nerves is crackling, buzzing with the combination of touches and Eve isn’t surprised that Villanelle is good at this, just surprised that it could be this good at all. 

Villanelle reaches up to pull at the hem of Eve’s tank top, tugging it up and away from fevered skin. Eve thinks of all the pleasure that is under the cover of the fabric – her breasts, the dark sensitive peaks of her nipples. Eve thinks too of her soft belly, her heart and lungs, her ribs. She thinks of soft wide eyes in the bed in Paris again, red on white sheets, and she grips tightly at Villanelle’s hand.

“No. Keep touching me.” She urges and Villanelle groans but concedes, drops her hand back to slide two fingers inside where Eve is wet and wanting.

Eve strokes her hand down over the soft downy hairs at Villanelle’s nape, rubs little circles with her middle finger and says.

“That’s so good, baby” and Villanelle lets out a strangled moan. It is guttural, comes from the bottom of her lungs…and Eve realises it is _her_ moan. Eve’s own moan from minutes earlier. It’s tape-recorder perfect, down to the ragged gasp at the end, and Eve just…stops.

“That…was that mine? That noise?” Eve frowns at her, not even quite sure how to ask. Villanelle lifts her face, lips slick and dark eyebrows creased together. 

“What? Yes.” 

Eve blinks.

“I liked the way it sounded.” Villanelle continues. 

“Okay.” Nods Eve, deadpan, not sure what to feel. 

“I can do different noises – if you would like?” Villanelle frowns, uncertainty starting to cloud across her eyes, and Eve sinks her hand gently back down across her neck, encourages her back down.

“No. Keep going, baby.” And Villanelle hums, sliding her tongue back across Eve, who tries hard not to wonder who the other noises might have belonged to if she had said yes.

Villanelle makes her tongue flat and broad, undulates it against Eve in pulses. There is nothing overtly clever or intricate about it, but it is intuitive and perfect and deeply satisfying, moving in time with the almost imperceptible rocking of Eve’s hips.

In the dark beneath her, Villanelle is stunning - all long legs and softness over strong muscle. When she leans forward to lick deeper, harder, the muscles at the back of her legs stretch out tightly. Shadows pool deeply in the little dimples at the base of her spine.

“You look so good like this.” Eve croons, and the moan that follows hums deliciously against her clit.

Eve feels the hand against her thigh drop away, and with it the vague stretching in her hamstring. She waits for Villanelle to slide her fingers elsewhere along her skin but the sensation never comes. When she glances down, Villanelle has slipped the hand beneath herself and begun an unchecked rocking of her hips. 

“Fuck.” Eve breathes. Hazel eyes glance up at Eve from between her thighs and Villanelle groans into her when she sees that she is watching.

Villanelle has dropped her mouth lower, is groaning her own pleasure out against Eve entrance and licking up into her almost shockingly deeply. Her fingers have replaced her tongue against Eve’s clit, pressing against her in quick, jerking little moves and the roughness of her fingertips is incredible.

“Good girl.” Eve groans out again, spreads her palm down rolling shoulders and feels Villanelle cry out and quiver under her hands.

It’s messy and imperfect now, some of the previous finesse replaced with Villanelle halting and groaning tremulously against her, but _oh_ , it’s good. Eve drops her hand to touch herself too, too close now to wait for Villanelle to compose herself. She can feel hot gasping breath against her knuckles. 

“God I’m close.” Groans Eve, and that is enough for Villanelle. With a high pitched keen, she is coming hard again against her own fingers, hips snapping against the bed with her free hand grasping powerfully at the outside of Eve’s thigh. She mouths slackly at Eve, still mewling out the last sounds of her orgasm with her tongue playing over Eve’s moving fingers and it is vulgar and messy and perfect - just enough to push Eve over the edge too. 

The orgasm shakes through Eve like lightening, surprising her with how strong and sharp the feeling is. It tenses her muscles, curls her in on herself. She clutches at Villanelle with both hands, cries out in one quick, sharp shout. One hand is still buried deep at the nape of Villanelle’s neck, and the woman below her whimpers softly, half pain and half pleasure when her grip tightens.

Eve’s heart is racing, her breath coming now in long shuddering sighs. Beneath the ringing in her ears she can hear the hiss of skin on sheets as Villanelle rolls elegantly onto her back, still between her legs, and rests her head back on Eve’s still-clothed belly. It is all dark, blurred shapes, soft breasts and firm tight stomach. Eve can tell that she is fingering lightly at her scar. 

“Do you think it will be really awkward at the office tomorrow?” Villanelle stage-whispers into the dark, mock scandal spread thickly over her voice, and Eve ignores her. Villanelle laughs anyway, shrill and delighted with herself.

The part of Eve still capable of rational thought tries hard not to hyperventilate. 

Villanelle rolls and squirms again, situates herself half on top of Eve with her head pressed into her shoulder. It is intimate and familiar, like old lovers. She pulls at Eve’s arm, drapes it around herself. 

“Thankyou. That is nice, Eve.” She purrs. 

When Eve opens her mouth to protest, Villanelle’s eyes are peering up at her hot and dark and dangerous. 

“ _Let me_ , Eve.” Villanelle whispers firmly, golden and powerful and threatening, a lion in her lap, and if Villanelle had claws Eve knows they would be needling her softly now in warning. 

In a split second the scales have tipped again. Eve feels the reins go slack in her hands, feels the moment that Villanelle takes them. There is a contented, soft sigh against her neck, and Eve considers that perhaps Villanelle has had them all along.

The loss of control stings Eve, makes her want to snarl and snap, wants to fight properly like twisting snarling beasts. She thinks about not playing Villanelle’s game, shaking her off callously and standing from the rumpled sheets. But she knows the scope of Villanelle’s petty retributions, tongues at the scar on her own lip and thinks of the looming, silent shipping container somewhere in the forest.

And so Eve tightens her arm, strokes her fingers through tousled hair, and watches Villanelle pretend to sleep. 

She sighs at the warmth, trails her fingers over soft skin and inhales the smell of skin and sex and Villanelle. Eve smiles. She doesn’t dare to close her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we made it. Thanks for the patience with this one!
> 
> As always, comments are the light of my life so please drop me a line to tell me what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> I know we're all still un-lacing our clown shoes from that finale, but please enjoy some mid-season smut to ease the tension.


End file.
